


Proxy

by destron destroyer (strange_isle)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Revenge, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_isle/pseuds/destron%20destroyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kill switch can disable as well as destroy. Fortress Maximus has reached an understanding with Megatron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proxy

**Author's Note:**

> This all started with the short ficlet at the top, but I felt like elaborating on the context I had in mind when I'd written it. And so the rest happened :D

Part I

  

Megatron’s role is almost peripheral — he restrains Overlord from behind, granting Fortress Maximus full access for taking out his aggressions. Overlord has ceased struggling, but Megatron can feel his fury with the echo of every thrust.  Each curse, he rewards with a caress, each groan, with a bite to his neck cables. Overlord shakes and seethes, and Megatron tightens the hold on his frame.  

Once, Fort Max’s eyes meet Megatron’s by accident and flicker downward in self-consciousness. The next moment, they snap back, and he slams into Overlord with a growl. Overlord cries out, a prolonged keen of frustration. "That’s right, Max," Megatron says, approval in his voice.  "He’s yours now."

 

* * *

Part II

  

Even shackled, Fortress Maximus is certainly capable of overpowering his jailer, a much smaller mech who carries no weapons of note. Instead, he keeps the established distance between them while they travel the hall in silence. The cuffs themselves are ordinary metal, generating no stasis force, but Max extends his hands when prompted and waits patiently as they are unlocked for him. Later, when he’s finished, Fort Max will allow himself to be re-cuffed and led to a room where he’ll be confined until the next day. The inconvenience is accepted, barely noticed even. None of it seems terribly significant when the cell he’s arrived at holds Overlord.

Once, being locked in with Overlord would’ve driven Max to his knees, stricken by old memories, but here it’s only the start of another day’s session. Overlord lies on a table, bound, strength sapped by Megatron’s kill switch: just strong enough to shove or grab Fort Max momentarily, but never strong enough to win. After so many iterations of this, Overlord limits himself to calculated attacks made simply to test for any return of his power. He has not accepted his defeat, and he is still cunning. In the absence of his Phase-Sixer abilities, Overlord’s greatest weapon is his words, and at the start he’d been able to reduce Fort Max to a screaming wreck. Now the fuel for his taunts has slowly run dry, and Max has learned when to gag him.

Overlord raises his head, the gag from the previous day still present, in fact — its straps digging painfully into the sides of his mouth. Sometimes Max does forget to tidy up afterward. Overlord’s optics are narrowed into slits, and Fort Max draws close to trace a finger along his jaw. Beautiful red optics. Max is glad the Decepticons have been willing to make repairs after he’s smashed and ruined them again and again.

Initially, Fort Max’s revenge had taken on violent forms. He’d had the idea of turning every torture he’d known from Overlord back on him to study the difference in reactions, to come to know what he could endure that Overlord couldn’t, as well as the inverse. Fort Max had discovered exactly what pitch Overlord’s laughter hit when it changed from amusement to genuine pain and desperation.

Any necessary tools or devices are provided for him upon asking. Many he’d been forced to describe in shape and function to whichever jailer was on duty, the names unknown to him. Decepticon torturers are familiar with a wealth of implements, but several have still yet to be identified. Overlord is a creative mech.

Those cruel punishments Max had performed with cold precision, a detachment that has only grown over the months. Now he’s content to simply sit by Overlord’s side, touching him or winding and unwinding the chain of his leash in his hand, hearing its soft clinks. He’s no longer rough, something Overlord has mocked him for. “You’re helpless; that’s enough,” had been Fort Max’s reply. He’s come to understand that _anything_ he does merely reinforces that fact, whether he’s harsh or gentle. Whether he strokes his prisoner to overload or frags him or rides him — the last, he’d thought he’d never want, but it’s pleasant the way Overlord twitches beneath him, unable to speed or slow his movements in any way. Today Fort Max thinks he’ll do just that.

Overlord is already strapped into a suitable position, so the only matter is his cooperation. “Will you open for me nicely?” Max asks. He begins by circling Overlord’s front panel with the tips of his fingers. Heat radiates from it, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to hold out. A muffled growl sounds from behind the gag, and Max’s touches grow insistent. “Yes, I’ll take it off for you. You say interesting things sometimes when you’re inside of me.” Overlord’s expression grows wry and his panel slides open, the spike behind it extending. Fort Max climbs onto the table, feeling no need to delay, port already slick in anticipation. He straddles his hips and sinks onto him, inch by inch, only leaning forward to remove the gag once he’s buried Overlord’s spike all the way inside himself.

“ _Ohhh_ , Megatron. Megatron, you’re so good,” Overlord calls out lewdly.

“Mine, mine,” Max murmurs. “Megatron gave you to _me_.” That had been more than a year ago — the last time Overlord has seen or heard anything from Megatron. It’s one of Max’s favorite facts to point out, and he whispers it again now into Overlord’s audial.

“...Megatron. Megatron,” Overlord says, his optics a dim red in the lighting of the cell.

 

* * *

 

A small camera refocuses silently — the most undetectable of its kind, according to Soundwave. Three floors up from the prison level, in a room built for a single purpose, the camera feed is received along with that of several others placed to capture every possible angle. Concealed recorders stream corresponding sound to the scene now occupying eight large monitors. “...Megatron. Megatron,” the voice fills the dark room, volume turned to the highest setting, and Megatron touches himself slowly, reveling as the instrument of his punishment uses his wayward Phase-Sixer.

 


End file.
